Translated by Kailan


Thirty years ——- I walked from this side to the other side of summer
thirty years ——–stepping into autumn

A glass of stronger wine
set before me ——-reflects a swallowed smile

Aroma of gardenia sews up cracked dusk
The cottage is a straw boat ——-that listens ——–to the sound of water within me

running past ——-but never out of
a shady green pond’s sighing diameter

Strolling in forest ——my breath weaves through bamboo leaves
as I count the scattered raindrops ——–falling neatly to their death

Thirty years ago ———the child turned away leaving disturbance in air
Dufu’s flower path once more ——-Dufu’s wooden door once more

Poets boarded their own deadly boats
painfully scrape this river bed of thirteen hundred years

Light like a blade of grass ——–despite gale’s carving
he never rejects what poverty and illness have

gifted him ——–The stone-mill he has pushed
grinds chimney smoke

that floats faintly ——–My maturity
is like a nation ——–grown accustomed to the beauty of sorrow


A line of poetry’s dim corridor goes darker and darker
A line of poetry ——–in the quiet garden tourists dispersed
Bamboo touches the sound of wind——- of rain——- of birds
Drenched wild flowers resemble drenched human shapes
Give me twilight ——–thirty years
yellowing paper seeping through—— two water surfaces seeping through
pushing further away his face and mine——– A wooden bed a cold quilt
Catch up swallows ——–a faintly scented space continues to linger
in meanings lit up in left-out flesh and blood
Give me a life unlike—– any other
but change all paths to shadows——– He walks slowly
throwing down at my side raindrops big as wine glasses
Clouds get darker——- one candle’s light shines up from water’s depths
One summer’s chill comes out of one thousand summers
Let me ——forget poetry only then return to
the warmth piercing through bones—— A death more shocking than poetry
corrupted by worthless living now becomes hollow words
Yet I tread carefully on the sea’s edge press——- closely to
his silhouette——- and forget to pay homage to a cottage
Thirty years ——-a cottage built board by board
I wander all over the world for an endless line of poetry
A history ——–without ruins
At a night when a myriad of twinkling lights offer sacrifices in heart
and nip buds tender and wet——– forming in the same instant
Give me scarlet brilliance——– a fragrance kept within
exudes at this moment——- stars sprout with flickers
I am already that old and beautiful person—— pure and clean—— enough

By Yang Lian

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